Simon Brett - The Stabbing in the Stables

Imogen had started by trailing behind her minder, swinging her battered riding hat at her side, but, soon realising that this formation opened up too much danger of Jude looking back and making eye contact, she now marched resolutely ahead.

“Will there be someone at home when you get there?”

The girl couldn’t refuse to answer such a direct question. “I think my Dad’ll be there. Mum works late on a Thursday.”

“What does your mother do?”

“She serves at Allinstore.” Fethering’s only-and highly inefficient-supermarket. “Money’s been tight since they started the divorce proceedings. Mum thinks the work is very definitely beneath her.” Imogen seemed to derive some satisfaction from her mother’s discomfiture.

“So what time will she be back?”

But the brief window of communication was closing. All Jude got was a terse “Later.”

“Well, look, if you have any problems, or you’re left on your own too long this evening, give me a call.” Jude stopped for a moment and scribbled down her mobile number. The girl hadn’t waited for her and Jude had to hurry to catch up and hand it across. Silently Imogen shoved the scrap of paper into the pocket of her puffa jacket, but not in the manner of someone who was ever going to use it.

Jude tried again. Surely the murder of Walter Fleet would get some reaction from the girl.

“Horrible, that business up at Long Bamber, wasn’t it?” Silence. “You know, the reason why Conker and Chieftain have been moved back to the Dalrymples’.”

“I do know what you’re talking about,” said Imogen pityingly.

“It must have been a shock for you.” Jude persevered. “I mean, because you spent so much time up at the stables.”

“I didn’t spend much time there.”

“But I thought you looked after Conker, helped with the mucking out?”

“Not very often.”

This seemed a direct contradiction to what Sonia Dalrymple had said, but Jude didn’t question it.

“And you must have known Walter Fleet quite well.”

“Not that well. He was just an old guy who was around, that’s all.”

Old? Early forties. Jude wondered how old Imogen thought she was. “But he and his wife ran the place. You must have had quite a bit to do with him and-”

“I didn’t know him well,” the girl said firmly, and to emphasise the ending of the conversation, ran a few steps ahead. “We’re nearly there.”

The River Road destination to which Imogen led the way was a substantial family house, probably with four or five bedrooms. Though Sonia Dalrymple had dismissed Alec Potton’s earning potential, and it was as nothing compared to her husband, he must have been doing pretty well to buy a property like that in Fethering. But the house was showing signs of neglect. The exterior paintwork was blistered and flaking, and the front garden had grown shaggy. Its lack of maintenance seemed all too straightforward a symbol for the dividing family within. The blank stare of the unlit windows with undrawn curtains was distinctly unwelcoming.

“It’s all right. You can leave me here,” said Imogen when they reached the garden gate.

“No, I’ll see you in, check there’s someone there.”

“I am fourteen, you know. I am capable of being in the house on my own. In fact, I spend most of my time in the house on my own. It’s not a problem.”

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

“No.”

“Well, let’s just see if there’s anyone in.”

“For heaven’s sake, I can be left alone! You sound just like my mum, not letting me be on my own for a single minute. Either she’s got to be there, or she’s got to fix up for Dad to be there or…”

Imogen let out one of those exasperated sighs that only teenage girls can do properly, and stomped off up the garden path, reaching for her house key. She opened the front door, turning to bar entrance to Jude. Her unwanted escort was being given a very definite message to leave.

“So, is there someone in?”

“Yes, of course there is. Da-ad!”

But the only answer to her long call was an echo in the empty house. Imogen looked taken aback, then let out another louder wail, which again produced no response.

“He said he’d be here. He promised to be here.” But resignation quickly overcame disappointment. “Don’t worry. I’ll be all right. You can go.”

“But couldn’t you give your father a call on your mobile to-”

“If he’s not here, he’s doing something else,” said Imogen sharply. “Work probably. He’s on the road somewhere. I can’t disturb him when he’s working.”

“But surely he’s…”

Jude’s words trailed away at the sound of a car drawing up behind her and Imogen’s eyes brightening with recognition.

“He’s here. You can go.” Even the pretence of politeness in her words had now slipped away.

Jude turned to see a tall man emerging from a rather grubby BMW. “Sorry, Immy love, got delayed.”

Alec Potton was in his early forties, louchely stylish in a shapeless corduroy suit. In spite of his receding hair, he was an attractive man, and the warmth of his handshake to Jude after she had been grudgingly introduced showed that he was well aware of his attractiveness. Over the years of being what could only be described as fanciable, she knew all too well the subtext of extra hand pressure and extended contact by which men expressed sexual interest. The instant thought came into her mind that perhaps Alec Potton’s relish for other women was the cause of the divorce currently in progress.

“Can’t thank you enough for looking after Immy,” he said enthusiastically. Closer to, Jude could see that his good looks were marred by nervous anxiety. He was a man under stress. And a lot of the stress seemed to be related to his daughter. He looked at her with something approaching fear, as though afraid she might crumble to dust at any moment.

“It was no problem. Virtually on my way back.”

“Anyway, thank you…Jude-was that the name?”

“That’s right-Jude.”

“Well, thank you for holding the fort. I’m back in time to get my daughter some supper. What do you fancy, Immy? What have we got in the house?”

“The usual boring rubbish.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I’d better take you down the Crown and Anchor, hadn’t I?”

“Mum said we should stop eating out all the time. We’ve got to economise.” It was said piously, but with an edge of humour. Imogen relished the idea of a meal out with her father.

“Ah,” Alec began soberly, “if Mum said that…” He was silent before continuing wickedly. “All the more reason to have supper at the Crown and Anchor.”

Putting his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, he led her towards the car. As he did so, he looked closely at the jumper she was wearing under her puffa jacket. “Is that mine?” She nodded. “You cheeky cow.”

Though she hadn’t yet seen Imogen with her mother, Jude felt pretty sure she knew which side the girl was taking in the divorce contest. The eyes with which she looked at her father were full of adoration.

“Hello. Stephen?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s your mother.”

“Oh, look, I’m sorry. I’m right in the middle of something. Can I call you back?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

And that was that.

“You said they were going to have supper at the Crown and Anchor. Maybe we should do the same?”

Jude was amazed. The suggestion was a most unlikely one, considering who it came from. Carole was always reticent, even shy. The idea of her volunteering to manufacture an encounter with Alec Potton and his daughter was totally out of character.

“I think that might look a bit obvious, don’t you? I mean, given that I’ve only just met him, and that I’m not Imogen’s favourite person.”